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Wednesday, December 7, 2016

Tad turned 3 last month. Since I have a newborn, he got a boxed cake mix with tub frosting and some figurines stuck on top. (Though the figurines were $$$. Thanks, Disney.)

He was napping when I made the cake and we showed it to him first thing when he woke up. I wish I had videotaped the rapturous look that crossed his face when he saw it. I wish I could be sure of remembering it forever. Because it is so very rare, even three years in, for me to feel like I'm getting this right. I'm probably not, on the whole, but at least I get that one moment when I guessed exactly the kind of cake he wanted.

I feel like I should write more here; something sentimental and motherly. I'm not very good with the motherly sentiment, though, as evidenced by the fact that I have been procrastinating on this post for three weeks. He's my impossible baby; he's my fixed point in time, and I love him fiercely but not in a way that makes for touching blog posts.

How about this, though. A while back I was listening to this song in the car and suddenly heard it as a mom of a severely speech delayed child. (And cried, of course, because as I mentioned above I just had a baby.)